


Relatively Unscathed

by imexactlythesameasyou



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Engagement, Gallavich, Ian is sad and struggling, M/M, season 10
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22628269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imexactlythesameasyou/pseuds/imexactlythesameasyou
Summary: Ian Gallagher isn't quite ready to get married, but he's getting there.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Kudos: 24





	Relatively Unscathed

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So season 10 did a very interesting thing of not at all explaining Ian's change of heart when it came to marriage. I really needed to see for myself how Ian would work through these things, so I'm writing this.

Well. Coming over to the north side hadn’t been a complete waste of time. Mickey had left Byron, apparently. Ian figured he should be relieved, but something coarse made its way through the innards of his chest at the thought of it. The whole Byron thing had been a farce, after all. A way to get back at Ian, to make him jealous. It had worked, but that didn’t mean Ian couldn’t see it for what it was. He had been sure that when Mickey did leave Byron, it would be to come home. To come home with him. But the fact that he wasn’t putting on the show anymore—making out with Byron on the sidewalk and grabbing his ass in public—it meant he had given up. He wasn’t holding out hope anymore. These games, or whatever the fuck it was they had been doing, were over. And Ian could’ve continued his search after finding Byron’s place free of anything distinctly Milkovich, but that night, being on crutches, and having come to the conclusion that any efforts he made from then on could very well be fruitless, he went home instead, with no reason to piss in a Vespa this time, unfortunately.

The next morning was coffee, breakfast, greeting siblings and, honestly? That was about as specific as the memories went for the physical, actual aspects of the day. The rest of it was spent in Ian’s head, attempting to sort out his own thoughts and desires as separate from Mickey’s. After all, there was a part of him that did want to get married, desperately, but as it was, he had no way of knowing how much of that part was just the part of Mickey that had long since latched onto him. Fucking Milkovich with his fucking lingering presence. And yet, the prospect of removing Mickey from his brain conjured the image of pulling every second thread out of a cotton shirt with tweezers: tedious, and leaving something unrecognisable when done. 

It was late when Ian went to the Milkovich house. It wasn’t the greatest place for Mickey to go, but it wasn’t like he had a lot of options (unless he had gotten himself another twink plaything, Ian thought bitterly), and Sandy was there, so he would at least have someone to gossip with about how emotionally stunted Ian was acting. It was dark when he got to the house, and Ian didn’t know what would happen if he was bold enough to knock on the front door of a building full of Milkoviches, (nor was he interested in finding out), so he went around the side of the house to the window of what would hopefully still be Mickey’s bedroom.

Luckily, the window was already partially open when Ian reached it. At his height, the top of his head fell comfortably below the sill, so he couldn’t see in. But the smoke that was drifting out into the night air gave Mickey away. 

‘Mickey?’ The silence of the night seemed to swallow Ian’s voice, and he wasn’t 100% sure he had said it out loud, so he tried again. ’Mickey, I know you’re in there—at least put out the fucking cigarette if you’re trying to go stealth.’

He was certain that he had been vocal this time, but still nothing. Ian didn’t know what he was expecting. Did he really think that Mickey would be up for a chat, waiting to hear his side of the story, one which he still wasn’t ready to give? Standing there, breathing heavily, Ian remembered another time Mickey had given him the silent treatment—all those years ago, when Ian had tried to approach him after Mickey had been raped. They had both just been kids, trying to work it all out between themselves, becoming comfortable as something more than just fuck buddies. They had lived in a world of their own when they were alone, and the only thing they were sure of was that they were happier together than apart. And then the sky came crashing down on that world, and neither of them had a say, anymore. 

Ian squeezed his eyes shut a took a breath. He couldn’t go back to that place. That place was shame, and pain, and loneliness. He had worked so hard to move on. They both had. His voice cracked slightly when he next spoke but he couldn’t bring himself to care. ’Mickey, I— I’m sorry that I’m not ready yet. I don’t know why I’m afraid, because I look into your eyes and… And you’re home for me. You’re it. I—‘ It was overwhelming, trying to find the right words to express how he felt, because he felt a thousand things in that moment. 

‘I think about us and… god there were so many times I thought I was certain before. So many fucking times that I thought, “there’s nothing that can shake this”, but then something would happen, and you would leave or I would leave and… god it was always so hard to build myself back up from that. Every fucking time. And I just worry that…’ Ian drifted off, not able to speak his worries aloud. They were stuck, the worries, crowded within a cage in his chest, all lobbing anchors out of the bars and onto his stomach.

The silence stretched on for as long as it did, because that’s what silence tends to do. Ian supposed, if there at been any noise, any dogs barking in the distance or leaves rustling, he wouldn’t have caught the whisper from above his head. ‘You should leave, Ian.’ And maybe a stronger man would’ve latched onto this, and argued with Mickey until he managed to convince them both of something that wasn’t true, but Ian couldn’t help but think that Mickey was right. And so he went home, again, thoughts passing by his consciousness relatively unscathed. Ian wished he could say the same about his heart.


End file.
